The Root of the Problem – A Magical Fable About the Origins of Onion and Garlic

Long ago, in a village nestled near the edge of a dense forest, there lived two sisters, Anya and Galina. The villagers often whispered about them, calling them names like “witch” or “banshee,” spreading tales that their parents had meddled with witchcraft to beget children late in life. But the truth was far simpler: the sisters lived humbly, farming their small plot of land, growing mostly potatoes to last them through the harsh seasons.

One day, while selling their produce at the village market, a bratty child ran into Anya’s path shouting,
“Banshee!”
His mother, mortified, apologized and hurried away, but the insult stung. Yet that was not what truly troubled Anya. What weighed heavy on her heart was a piece of gossip she’d overheard—about the dove breeder’s daughter, who had fallen gravely ill and might not survive the harvest season. Anya didn’t know the girl, yet her mind spun with sorrow for her and her family.

Returning home, Anya’s tears flowed freely, and though Galina chided her for being tender-hearted over a stranger, she understood her sister’s gentle soul. To cheer her up, Galina pointed to two large pots of soup she’d made from their harvest.
“You can deliver these to the homeless,” she said. It was their family’s tradition to share soup after every good crop.

A Suggestion from the Sparrow Lady

As Anya distributed the soup, she visited the infamous Sparrow Lady, a cranky old woman who always criticized the food. Between mouthfuls of soup, the Sparrow Lady muttered,
“You’re no witch, girl, or else this slop would taste better. But if you want real help, go find the witch your parents once visited—deep in the northwest corner of Squat Pine.”

Anya carried this information home and asked Galina whether they should seek out the witch.
Galina scoffed,
“As if being seen searching for a witch would help our reputation. And why hasn’t the Sparrow Lady gone herself if the witch is so helpful?”

Still, the idea simmered in their minds.

A Rotten Harvest and a Desperate Cry

As autumn settled in, their last big harvest failed disastrously—their potatoes were rotting in the ground. Anya blamed herself, consumed with guilt. She cried night after night, her wailing echoing across the village, making people believe she was foretelling doom.

With their livelihood crumbling, Galina finally agreed:
“Let’s find the witch.”

Under the cover of night, the sisters ventured to the forest’s northwest corner. There, they found only an old dry well—no hut, no witch in sight. Disheartened, Anya sobbed uncontrollably.
To muffle the sound, Galina shoved a rusty pail over her sister’s head. She then tossed the pail into the well—which triggered a rumbling beneath their feet. A spiral staircase unfurled into the earth.

Without hesitation, Anya descended, with Galina close behind. At the bottom, they pushed through a curtain of crimson maple leaves into a glowing, bustling underground chamber. Books, glass vials, owls, and even a squawking parrot filled the space.

An unassuming man with pince-nez spectacles looked up from his newspaper. He was the witch—more clerk than conjurer in appearance.
“I don’t usually take walk-ins,” he remarked, “but I’ve been expecting you, daughters of my old clients.”

He explained that he couldn’t remove Anya’s endless weeping or Galina’s stench, but:
“You can give them away.”
With a spell he taught them, they could transfer their curses to another by saying:

“That from which I cannot benefit, I give to you for yours.”

The sisters left skeptical, feeling they’d been tricked. Even if the spell worked, Anya wouldn’t wish her sorrow on anyone, and Galina couldn’t get close enough to pass on her curse without people fleeing from her smell.

An Accidental Solution

Weeks passed. One day while gardening, Galina picked up a knobbly, ugly tuber growing among her carrots. On a whim, she uttered the witch’s spell. A strange warmth spread through her palm—she felt leached of something.

Excited, she rushed to Anya, who tried the spell on another bulbous root. She, too, felt a wave of relief and joy—her sorrow temporarily lifted.

But their relief was short-lived. The smell and sadness remained. Worse yet, the peculiar roots began to grow uncontrollably, sprouting everywhere in their garden.

One day, driven by hunger, Anya proposed:
“Let’s cook them. If they’re edible, they might save us.”

As Anya chopped one of the knobby roots, her eyes stung, and tears streamed uncontrollably. Galina laughed:
“You look like me now!”

They cooked the roots—frying some, boiling others—and to their surprise, the aromas were rich and savory. Even more astonishing, the soup made from these odd bulbs was delicious.

A New Fortune

When Anya took the soup to the village’s poor, even the Sparrow Lady loved it. Soon villagers sniffed the air and came asking for servings. The sisters decided to sell the soup, and to their amazement, customers returned day after day.

Over time, the sisters’ reputation changed. The farmhouse became a bustling eatery, a place of warm meals and good company. They even invited the Sparrow Lady to live with them and help refine the recipes.

Anya realized one day that she hadn’t cried in weeks, and Galina’s stench had vanished entirely. Their burdens had truly been transferred—but not to any person—to the roots themselves.

They named the tear-inducing bulb “Anyan”, after Anya, which evolved into the word onion. The smelly, knobbly bulb was called “Galin”, which became known as garlic.

Every month, they sent a basket of their food to the witch in the well, where the steps would unfurl in welcome—drawn by the pungent, mouth-watering scent.

Moral of the Story

Even our burdens can become blessings when met with creativity and kindness. What once brought sorrow and shame to Anya and Galina became gifts that nourished their community—and the world.